


Standford (2001)

by MaisieBee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Brotherly Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Pre-Stanford, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Leaves for Stanford, Soft Dean Winchester, before canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 15:51:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15004220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaisieBee/pseuds/MaisieBee
Summary: Despite his flaws, Dean Winchester is determined to not let his little brother throw his life away on hunting.





	Standford (2001)

**Author's Note:**

> A fanfic from 2015.

Dean sat at the kitchen table with John as they cleaned the rifles. Dean was still slower than his dad though he tried to wipe them down and reload as quickly and efficiently as possible. The man and his son didn’t speak a word. They hardly did. They weren’t a talking kind of family.

Footsteps came down the creaking stairs — they were, of course, Sammy’s quick tread, but something about them was dazed. He rounded the corner and came into the kitchen. Dean looked up. His little brother clutched a letter and envelope in his hands, his face flushed and excited, eyes almost glassy with happiness.

Dean’s heart raced. He snapped the barrel of the shotgun closed and opened his mouth to warn Sam not to say anything, but he already said it.

“I did it. Dean, Dad. . . I got into Stanford. Full ride scholarship.”

Stomach settling in the basement, Dean couldn’t say anything. He wished Sammy would have waited. They could have plotted the strategy. Well, it was too late now.

John didn’t even look up. He slid the .50 caliber salt pellets into the gun. “Did you,” was all he said.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did!” Sam laughed. “I mean, I knew my grades were good, but I didn't think they were that good.”

John's voice was so quiet it hurt Dean's ears. “Are you going?”

Sam's expression was confused. “Of course. It's too good to pass up.”

“And what about hunting?” 

He stammered. “I-I'll have to take a break for a while, I guess,”

Then John's voice leapt up in a terrifying crescendo. “What? You're just going to leave us to go off to school while we hunt that thing which killed your mother?”

“Dad—” Dean started to say, but was cut off.

“We haven't had a hit on that thing in years! For all we know someone already killed it,” Sam said. “God, why can't you just be happy for me?”

“Because you're selfish,” John said, the last word punctuated by the snap of the guns barrel. He stood and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I'm selfish?” Sam's laugh was incredulous.

“Dad!” Dean said again, more sharply.

“Shut up, Dean!” his father roared. Dean flinched involuntarily. His breath came fast and painful. John continued, stalking towards Sam until the two were nose-to-nose, “You'd be turning your back on the family business when your brother and I need you most!”

“We don't need him, we're doing fine,” Dean tried to say, almost pleading, but he was drowned out by the louder voices.

“I'm not turning my back!” Sam balled his hands into fists, crumpling the letter. “How the hell are we supposed to support ourselves once you're gone, huh? We barely get by as it is!”

“Oh, and you'll be taking care of your brother with your fancy degree?” John sneered. He seemed to tower over Sammy, who was taller by a mile. “Once you make something of yourself?”

“Yes! Yes, I will,” he shot back.

“We'll let me tell you, son: there ain't anything out in that world that matters more than your family. It's us” — here John looked back at Dean, still barely able to comprehend what was going on — “or that degree.”

Sam's voice suddenly became small and quiet. “Why can't I have both?” he asked.

His father shook his head, contempt for his young son streaming from every pore. “Because I tried to have a family and be a hunter and look what happened.”

Silence pervaded. Dean wanted to speak, but didn’t dare.

“If you leave this house,” John said, “Don't come back.”

Sam stepped back, visibly shaking with emotion, his chest heaving with each breath. “No worries,” he said, practically choking on his own words, “I'll be out of your hair before Tuesday.” He ran from the room and up the steps. 

Dean didn't look at John as he ran after his little brother. He found him in his room, pulling everything from the closet and drawers and stuffing it into his suitcase, sniffling and trying to mask the sound of his tears. The letter lay forgotten and crumpled on the dresser. Carefully, Dean smoothed it out. It was so official-looking, with Sam’s full name and everything. Damn, a full-ride to Stanford was something Dean never even dreamed of achieving, and here his baby brother had gotten it all on his own.

“You’d be a fool not to take it,” Dean said as he continued to smooth the paper which held his baby brother’s future. He felt something warm bloom in his chest. “Can I just say how damn proud I am of you, Sammy?”

His back was to Dean, but he knew there was a watery smile on that face. “Me, too,” Sam whispered, pausing a second in his packing. “I’m damn proud of me, too.”

“So. . .” Dean leaned against the wall, hands crammed into his pockets. “Are you just packing early or. . .”

“I’m going to Bobby’s.”

“Okay.”

There was a swath of silence in which Sammy wiped his face and sat down on the edge of his bed. Both eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. His hair fell into his face. He turned it towards Dean and their eyes met. Then Sammy broke down into fresh tears.

It was enough to make Dean’s heart want to break. A sharp pain in his stomach, tears welling into his own eyes. He quickly blinked them away and approached his brother. “Shhh. It’s gonna be okay, Sammy. It'll be okay,” he whispered, roughly pulling him into a hug. Dean cradled Sam’s head to his chest in the way he used to when they were younger and Sammy was still smaller than him. “Shhh.”

After a moment, they broke apart. Sam wiped his eyes on his sleeves again. The fuzzy plaid fabric darkened with salty tears. “Is it going to be okay, though?” he asked. “I’m being exiled. You could both be killed while I’m gone. . .” He gulped. “This was a mistake. I need to stay here—”

“No!” Dean snapped. He grabbed Sam’s shoulders and looked him right in the eye. “No. I won’t let you stay here, you got me? You’re going. Even if I have to drive you there myself.”

“But Dad said—”

“Fuck what Dad said.” Dean was vehement. He wished he could have been when John had ripped into Sammy like that. “You know how he is.” He patted his brother’s shoulders. “When you’re done packing, put your bags in the Impala. I’ll take you to Bobby’s.”

“Thanks, Dean.”

Dean winked. “Anytime, genius.”

Sammy laughed.

— 

They arrived at Bobby’s by sunset. The redness of Sam’s eyes had gone down significantly, but he still looked worn-out and upset. He bounced his leg the entire car trip and kept hitting the skip button while they were listening to Dean’s music. Dean didn’t even institute his “driver picks the music” rule.

Bobby came out as soon as they pulled up. Dean slid his baby into park and turned off the engine.

“Hey, boys,” Bobby said. “Surprise visit?”

Dean and Sam exchanged looks as they got out. “Go on, tell him your good news!” Dean goaded, forcing his voice to sound cheerful.

Sam’s delivery of the news, however, was anything but. “I got a full-ride to Stanford,” he said, as if someone had died, dragging his suitcase from the trunk. “I’m taking it, so Dad kicked me out.”

Bobby’s eyebrows leapt up, then his face darkened. “The idjit did what?” he exclaimed.

“Kicked me out,” Sam repeated in the same dull tone. 

“Bet your bottom dollar he meant it, too. Jackass,” Dean added as he took the two overnight bags from the back seat and slammed the door. When he was with Bobby, he somehow found himself trash-talking John; like he was able to without the confidence being betrayed. Secretly, Dean knew Bobby had always been more of a dad to them than John had ever been. He was glad Sam had chosen to stay here until he left.

“Take the guest room for as long as you need,” Bobby said as he held the screen door open for both of the boys. He looked meaningfully as Dean. “That goes for you too, boy.”

Dean smiled. “Thanks, Bobby, but I'm fine.”

They took the bags to the barebones guest room. It had just a bed and an old wardrobe Dean had never seen. He opened it and was greeted with the overpowering scent of mothballs. He pushed aside the two old coats on wire hangers and stepped inside. “Hey, look, Sam!” He grinned. “Narnia!”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Get out of there, Dean; you’ll probably go through the bottom.”

He leapt out and hit his brother’s shoulder. “That’s the Sammy I know and love.”

They all met back up on the porch. It had fallen to a sticky night. Cicadas and crickets loudly chirped from the woods just beyond. Blue shadows made Dean feel like the world was closing in and it was just the three of them left alone in it. He shook the feeling off, though.

“Come for dinner tomorrow, Dean,” Bobby said as Dean juggled his keys.

“Oh, I’d love to, but I think Dad—” he began.

“It wasn’t a question, boy. Come for dinner tomorrow.” Bobby smiled behind his beard. “I promise to have something presentable. I probably won’t have cooked it, but it will be here nonetheless.”

“Okay.”

Dean waved to them both before backing out and driving back home. The atmosphere was almost poison. He couldn’t stand to stay in the same room with John for longer than a few minutes. He did target practice out back, read, and escaped the house as often as he could. He visited Sammy every day. 

The day that Sam went away to Stanford was emotional for both the brothers, though they did their very best to hide it. It was the first time Sam would be out of reach of Dean’s protection. At first, Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about that, then he grew to realize he hated it. But he was too proud — both egotistically and of Sammy — to stop his brother from leaving. 

They tried to keep in touch as best they could, but frankly it was hard. Sometimes it would be weeks before they would talk again. They rarely saw each other until one night Dean found himself driving down to Stanford and standing in front of his brother. Stanford seemed to be suiting Sam well. He hadn’t seen him looking so bright and full of life in years. Also, Sam’s girlfriend was gorgeous, but Dean quickly averted his eyes. He wasn’t here to ogle a taken girl. He had a message to deliver; the messenger in his leather jacket, riding his black steed cross-country to the lost prince who’d sworn off hunting so many years before.

Dean deadpanned. “Dad’s been on a hunting trip and he hasn’t been home in a few days.”


End file.
